Mickey Rourke's had it hard for the last 10 years. Longer really, but for the sake of the review we'll imagine he's the Marv of the film world: people are afraid to touch him and he's got more than his share of metaphorical scars. When the opportunity to play a down-and-out character past his prime arises, it makes you wonder whether or not a man like Rourke would or should jump at the chance. If 2008 showed us anything this year - with Robert Downey Jr.'s near-perfect portrayal of Tony Stark - sometimes it takes a character so close to an actor's own reality to get them back in the limelight.
Enter The Wrestler.
Randy "The Ram" Robinson (Rourke) had a promising wrestling career once as a crowd pleasing fan-favorite who took his hits with the best of them. But the life of pugilism and hedonism comes with a cost. After a particularly brutal match involving ladders, barbed wires and even a staple gun - Randy collapses. Like Homer after one-too-many cannonballs to the chest, Randy's heart can no longer handle the rigors of ring-side romper stomper routines. Stepping back and taking a breather, Randy takes measure of his life and sees for the first time all the things he let slip by.
Among the resolutions he vows to make is one to pursue a romantic relationship with Cassidy (Marisa Tomei), the stripper to whom he waves away most of his wages. Like Randy, Cassidy's days of stripper celebrity are long past her. It's striking how similar the rules of pole-dancing and wrestling are when it comes to what's hot and what's not. Both favor leaner and younger figures and offer little future to those who can't keep their bodies from aging. Randy and Cassidy deal with the same stressors but with starkly different parental realities: Cassidy takes care of her children on the side while Randy's lost touch his daughter over the years; despite recent attempts to regain her confidence and love.
Three things make The Wrestler an incredible cinematic experience: Mickey Rourke, the theatrics of the wrestling circuit and Evan Rachel Wood (Randy's daughter).
Mickey Rourke's portrayal of a washed up wrestler couldn't have been so sublimely performed by any other than him. Why? Because for anyone else it would have required acting. Rourke had none of that thespian poppycock standing in his way. Rourke played the part by living it. Every twinge of regret and every look of loss over a bitter though enjoyed past play across Rourke's face as second nature. Randy's stint as a deli counter clerk at a grocery store may be one of the film's highlights. In a flash of seconds we see Randy turn from a jovial steward of egg-salad scooping to one of frustrated rage - his career as a wrestler instilled in him the mindset of violent expression while leaving him with few viable options for a future without it. The concept of a self-perpetuating career of self-destruction seems more like the pattern of addiction than anything else. Despite knowing that another match could be the moment his heart stops beating, desperation and the thrill of crowd-induced adrenaline offer Randy few alternatives to the showboating life.
The scenes depicting the setup for each wrestling match's stunts are the few where Darren Aronofsky's style seems to seep into the film's feel. As the two opponents have the objects of audience-thrilling destruction pried from their bodies, we catch glimpses of the match where Randy and opposition exchange acts of brutality that serve no purpose beyond satisfying a crowd's bloodlust. In a world where each wrestler must adopt a persona to distinguish himself from his fellow fighters, Randy's older reputation often puts his style at odds with the newer blood who insist on elaborate setups of sharp accessories - but even so, his good nature allows him to come up on top and remain a popular figure on and off stage.
Marisa Tomei's role as Cassidy doesn't feel like much of a change from her last few roles. She strips down at the drop of a hat (though in The Wrestler, they bit the bullet and just made it her profession) and she remains as fickle as ever for the sake of maintaining a semblance of romantic drama. In a span of minutes she can go from revulsion at Randy's goonish appearance to adoration of his rough-and-tumble life. It's an odd character dichotomy that wouldn't feel so stark if the scenes where they occurred were cut so close together; but as is, there are times when Tomei's character is frustrating not for lack of performance on her part but the way the script and editing force her to appear.
As I said before - Darren Aronofsky's traditional eerie touch is tabled in favor of a shaky handycam approach. The film feels almost documentary-esque despite its obvious narrative. What amazes me the most about Aronofsky's direction here is his ability to leave behind the film effect parlor tricks and his love for the bizarre to depict a true and honest, down-to-earth portrayal of a simple man facing his addiction of self-punishment. It's a departure in style from his past films, but the theme feels right at home among his past body of work.
Evan Rachel Wood, as Randy's daughter, plays the pivotal point upon which Randy bets his future. From the outset of being medically benched from the wrestling arena, Randy devotes himself to reconnecting with the daughter he never knew. Reluctant at first, Stephanie comes to forgive the lug and makes the initial efforts to reconnect. Despite her small amount of screen time, Wood impacts her scenes with enough force to rival Tomei who gets considerably more opportunity.
The Wrestler, while not deserving of a Best Picture Award, will certainly garner Rourke attention in the award season. In fact, for Rourke's performance alone I would recommend The Wrestler to film lovers and the cinema layman alike. The man's a powerhouse both physically and in an acting sense and he gives Aronofsky a lead performance that I've yet to see rivaled in this year's slate of films.
"The Wrestler" opens December 17, 2008 and is rated R. Drama. Directed by Darren Aronofsky. Written by Robert D. Siegel. Starring Evan Rachel Wood, Marisa Tomei, Mickey Rourke.
